


Take My Hand

by ozsia



Series: Ice & Snow [1]
Category: Frozen (2013), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - War, Culture, Disabled Character, Drabble, F/M, Pre-Relationship, Royalty, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-30 21:43:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11472270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ozsia/pseuds/ozsia
Summary: Elsa shifts from her throne, watching the crowd dancing for her hand and hopes she can pick a good King while silently cursing this old Arendelle tradition.





	Take My Hand

Elsa shifted stiffly from where she sat on her throne, watching silently under the burning lights and in the hot air, the dance for her hand. Plenty had turned out for the traditional Courting Dance as men tried to earn her favour through nothing but the way they could move. It was how Father had found Mother, but Elsa hadn’t expected to choose a partner this way - until that is, the council had started to make arrangements.

Anna was sat at Elsa’s right on the dais, smiling awkwardly though nothing could disguise her concerned frown. Kristoff as Anna’s intended was the next chair over, Anna’s left. He was obviously uncomfortable but he was doing his best with learning his role to stay at Anna’s side, and Elsa appreciated the effort, even if he _did_ look like he was going to fidget straight out of his skin.

Kristoff had a good heart and wasn’t going to try and take advantage of his new position, as consort to the princess of Arendelle, for any politic purpose or otherwise. He had simply fallen in love with someone above his station, and Elsa was glad that the aspects of court he had been introduce to, hadn’t scared him off as  Anna deserved to be happy.

With her sister by her side, Else’s life was already far better than she had ever hoped it could be, and it is not like she doesn’t get _any_ say in whom she chooses. It wasn’t an arranged marriage. She just needed to pick someone and hope it wasn’t another Hans; a smiling face and friendly exterior that hid desires of grandeur.

Her eyes continue to scan the dancers of nobles, decorated soldiers, treasured heroes and foreign royals. Elsa had to pick and she could not take any hand she would not otherwise take under consideration for an ideal king. 

She had to be sure, it wasn’t just herself that Elsa had to protect but a kingdom she had already inherited. Elsa was not an accessory or a step up to the throne, she could not be. Elsa needed someone who could look at her and…

‘Elsa, are you alright?’ Anna whispered, tilting her face with a straight back and one hand in her lap, crumpling her skirt and the other crushing Kristoff’s fingers. Endearing, really, but Elsa still blessed her little sister’s union with Kristoff, who would not look down on Anna for her lack of composure. 

Elsa swallowed as she watched the dancers - the way they moved - and suddenly she needed air, her skin was starting to prickle with sweat and even with her image now what it was, it would be unbecoming to appear ruffled here.

She smiled weakly, could feel the pull of her mouth tremble in the strain of its lie. ‘I think I need a walk,’ she quietly replies as she stands from her throne and glances to them, her sister before looking at her intended. ‘Make sure to look after her.’ 

Kristoff barely has time to nod before Elsa has taken a step off the dais. She ignores the flustered footmen, and the sudden quiet from the ballroom. There's an abrupt stillness as the dancers watch her to see if she has chosen.

Elsa hasn’t, and disregards every expectant eye as she cuts down the middle of the dance floor. ‘The doors, if you please,’ she asks to the guards at the exit who hurry to comply with her wishes. Elsa doesn’t begin her rush until the doors have closed again, and she is alone with the only sounds being her heels and the acceleration of her breathing. Panic hits her like an arrow to the chest.

The hallway was lit with low burning candlelight and it was beautiful but it was also hot; a humidity that was making Elsa dizzy as she rushed to the nearest balcony. The glass doors were blown open in her hurry, a show of inelegance Elsa would hesitate to show even her sister as she threw herself at the stone railing. 

Breathing  the fresh night air, Elsa found herself relaxing. The heat prickling her skin was starting to abandon her as her heart settles under her breast, until someone cleared their throat. Elsa jumped out of her skin before she could help herself, snow covering the floor in her panic as she twirled around to see a man. A man who must have been there all this time, and what must have been an attendant, hovering with wide eyes over his shoulder. 

Elsa took note of the first man’s dress uniform, colours of whites and golds. His shoulders were decorated in stars and strips, with a few medals on the left lapel. A thin-bladed sword was sheathed to a leather belt around a trim waist. What appeared to be steel tired boots protected his feet, ending mid-calf. She could quietly deduce that this man - for whatever other title he held - had seen a battle, was a soldier and he manages to capture Elsa's attention.

‘My lady?’ the man asks, voice smooth and rich. Elsa’s eyes jump to his face and her breath catches when she sees the white strip of material covering his eyes. Her stomach twists uncomfortably, knowing that an injured soldier loses their worth as soon as they step off of the battlefield with damage. Sight is hard to replace, too, far more complicated than the loss of a limb and she knows that with the covering of his eyes, that this man is completely blind. 

‘How did you know I am female?’ Elsa asks after a moment of indecision as she shakes her head when the attendant; a pooka unbelievably - tries to move, probably to inform the man of who he was speaking to. 

Pooka were a warrior breed, that this man kept company of one spoke to his merit. This pooka in particular had mauve fur, green eyes and was wearing dress traditional to his race, boomerangs attached to his hips.

The man laughs, not at all offended of her questioning him after his injury. ‘I wouldn’t have thought a gentleman would be able to walk with such speed, in those heels.’

Elsa’s mouth twitches in amusement even as she continues to glance at the pooka until his ears flatten and he takes a wordless step back, allowing this for the moment even if his eyes burn bright with warning.  _Do not play with him,_ they seem to say and Elsa has no problem silently agreeing.

‘You’ll be surprised,’ Elsa finally ventures to the man’s wide grin, examining what she could see from his face; his developed jaw, crooked mouth and pale skin with even whiter hair, seeming to have been tamed for the occasion. ‘I have it on good authority that the dance floor is a dangerous place.’ 

She remembers back to her coronation and Anna’s dance with Duke Weaselton, and watches as the man smirks. ‘I must admit I probably add to the hazard.’ He chuckles easily.

‘A-ah - that wasn’t -’ Elsa winces, stumbling over her words at the man’s hint of a slight.

‘Not what the snowflake meant, Milady,’ the attendant soothed awkwardly with an accent she knows is from down under, far below the earth's crust. His nose twitches while his bright green eyes jump between them. ‘He likes to make mischief.’ 

‘It’s all fun and games.’ The man smirks, sharper this time. ‘What do they expect from a blindman?’ 

Elsa watches the attendant flinch, the pain on the pooka’s face evident. ‘So, you cannot dance?’ she asks.

The man’s mouth flattens, eyebrows knotting on his forehead. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ 

Elsa tilts her head, observes as the man’s posture becomes a little defensive. ‘You don’t like to, though you can,' Elsa theorises. 'People look down on you, so you choose to prove them right.’ 

‘Step on all their toes, guide them into other dancers, trip.’ The man enumerates almost thoughtlessly in agreement with her assumption. ‘It’s a great ole time.’ 

Elsa hums, allows the contemplative noise only because the man cannot read her face like she can his. ‘How…did this happen?’ She does not ask for permission to this question; this man does not know she is a queen, yet, and can decide himself whether or not he wants to answer.

‘Carelessness,’ the man responds flippantly. 

His attendant jolts, the purplish fur under his eyes ruffling like his skin was tightening. His shoulders flex and it looks like the pooka is restraining himself from interrupting again, before defiance enters the green and he does anyway. ‘You were saving my life. Milord.’ 

The man sighs and turns his head in the general direction of his attendant. ‘And you _still_ address me like you’re trying to insult me,’ he grins as his attendant bristles. ‘It’s ever so hard to find the staff,’ he tells Elsa, conspiratory. 

‘I’ll _show_ you “staff” -’

‘You can’t show _me_ anything -’

‘You both have an interesting relationship.’ Elsa interrupts to try an head off the pooka from strangling his lord, which looked like a real possibility as the man continues to tease; liking to wind his attendant up. 

‘Hm? Yeah, Bunny’s been assigned to me for as long as I can remember.’ The man responds, a warm fondness entering his voice. ‘He’s always trying to take care of me.’ 

"Bunny" glances at the man, appears to soften into something warm however sad as his lips twist conflictingly.

‘He sounds like a good attendant.’ Elsa smiles before shaking her head even while pondering the name "Bunny". ‘Might I get his Lord’s name?’

‘Ah, where _have_ my manners gone?’ The man asks with plastic shock as he bows faintly her way, just a little to the left, the movements are smooth though and unembarrassed before he straightens. ‘Jokul Frosti of Burgess, disgraced son of King Gunnbjorn.’

‘…Prince Jokul?’ Elisa repeats tentatively.  She has heard of the kingdom of Burgess, knowing them to be of the north of Arendelle and that the king had been toughened through the wars Burgess suffered, by neighbouring with the Nightmare realm. 

‘Just barely, Milady. Jack, in this tongue.’ The prince entitles her to his name though his words hint at deeper conversations and meanings she does not know.

‘And what is Prince Jack of Burgess doing at Arendelle’s Courting Dance?’ Elsa inquires as she brushes a stray hair out of her eyes.

‘Disgraced prince, you mustn’t forget that.’ Prince Jack smirks seemingly without a care even as Bunny’s ears droop. ‘King Gunnbjorn decided that I might try for Her Majesty’s hand, since I am now useless to my _own_ country, and try to build bonds here. I figure she could do without a cripple for an intended; she’s got enough to worry about, so I’m just staying out of the way.’ 

Elsa blinks, folding her hands tightly in front of her as she glances back to Bunny and his tense form. ‘…are you not tempted to step on someone’s toes?’ 

‘Only when _I_ am the only one I am embarrassing,’ Prince Jack responds with a crooked grin. ‘It sounds like Queen Elsa has been through a lot recently, she deserves the chance to find her dance partner without any distractions from me.’ 

Elsa releases a quiet breath. ‘…and if I invited you to the dance floor?’

‘Pardon?’ Prince Jack replies, tensing as his jaw loosens in shock.

Elsa refuses to lose her nerve now. Prince Jack has shown her courtesy in humouring a stranger all this time, strength of character in how he has dealt with his wounds, and kindness in how he regards his attendant. 'You never asked of me my name,’ Elsa says, a non sequitur to those not paying attention.

‘Did I not?’ Prince Jack breathes as Bunny moves to put a paw on his shoulder. ‘Then forgive me, my lady. May I ask after your name?’ 

Elsa wets her lips. ‘I am daughter of Agnarr and Iduna, Elsa of Arendelle, Snow Queen,’ she announces, though she has never had to present herself before, she feels it oddly appropriate now. ‘By chance, ser, may I ask after your hand?’ 


End file.
